Sherlock Holmes and Me
by lovetowrite11
Summary: Jackie is the daughter of Mycroft Holmes - Sherlock's older brother - and was living in an orphanage away from her father when he suddenly died. Then Jackie is shipped off to 221B Baker Street, and may end up being more valuable than Sherlock had thought!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is the first fanfic I've posted… just a random idea my sister brought up one day and I thought it'd make an interesting story! I love Sherlock Holmes and please, if I make a mistake or change anything that was in the Canon to make it fit a little better with my story, please don't feel offended all you amazing Holmes fans out there! I totally look up to you (as an obsessive Sherlock-fan myself) and I don't want to make anyone upset, so if I make any mistakes or cause any issues just let me know and I'll see if I can make any changes. Gracias :) love you all**

"She isn't invited to the funeral. She wouldn't be. He wouldn't have wanted her there."

The short, fat man in the black suit scratched his bald head and nodded vigorously. "So I see. But he… he will be there of course. No?"

"You mean Merlock? Of course he shall be there! He's his brother, for God's sakes!"

"Are ya' sure it's Merlock?"

"I don't know! It's something like that. Besides, who cares? I don't care. We'll cross that bridge when we see him sobbing at carrying on at his big brother's funeral."

The fat man nodded again. "So we shall talk to him then."

"Of course. And that is when we will tell him about… her."

"Which will presumably be quite a surprise to him. I hope he shall take it well."

"Hopefully. I don't have time to deal with crazed relatives. I've got an orphanage to run, and this girl is going to be just like the others. Once she's out, she's out."

Jackie sighed and gazed back out the window. She wondered whether they remembered that she was in the room, or if she had ears at all. Surely they realized that she could hear them.

"And now we can't just take her? And hand her off to him then?" the fat man proceeded to say.

"No, unfortunately not," the tall man replied, sitting down at the large mahogany desk that took up nearly half of the tiny office. "Unfortunately we can't bring her. Mycroft would not have wanted her to be there. I know that for sure."

Jackie sighed again. Honestly, when had he ever wanted her? And so why would his funeral be any different? Now that he was dead, obviously he couldn't say anything about it…

The tall man interrupted her thoughts. "Jacqueline?" he said, glancing up at her.

"It's Jackie," she responded coldly. "Jacqueline was my mother. I prefer to have my own name, thank you."

"Alright then," the tall man said, raising his eyebrows a bit and looking back down at the manila file folder full of paperwork. He seemed slightly flustered as he quickly scanned the documents.

"Please hurry, Ludwig," the fat man said, scratching his head again. "We don't have much time. We need to head to the station as soon as possible."

"I know, I know," the tall man called Ludwig responded. He quickly grabbed his paperwork and stuffed it into a briefcase. "Alright, let's head out."

They began to leave the room while Jackie sat waiting in her chair in the corner. She cleared her throat and leaned forward a bit, trying to catch their attention.

"Oh yes, Jacqueline," the tall man said curtly.

"It's Jackie."

"Whatever. Now, I need you to go back upstairs and pack your things and be ready to leave by tomorrow morning. Do you understand?"

"Not like I have much to pack," she mumbled, rolling her eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing."

"I thought so."

"Now aren't you going to excuse me? I don't want to sit around in this stuffy office all day."

The tall man glared at her. "You are excused. Now do as you're told."

"Do as _you're_ told," Jackie muttered, pushing them out of the way as she walked back up the stone staircase.

"What did you just say?"

"Nothing!" she shouted behind her, stomping angrily up the stairs.

"I thought so."

The short man raised his thick eyebrows and let out a whistle. "My, have you got your hands full there, Harland Ludwig," he said with a little laugh.

"I know. And I pity this Merlock man who's got to take her in. She's a piece of work, that's what."

"I'm starting to get convinced that it isn't Merlock, maybe… Merlin?"

"Whatever! Good riddance! Just good luck to him, whoever he may be!"

"Good luck to that man, for sure!"

"By far! But no matter what, don't tell him a word of it. She's sweet and friendly, like all the rest of the girls."

"Of course," the fat man said, smiling a toothy grin. "But of course."

"But of course," Jackie mimicked in a high-pitched voice extremely like that of the fat little man. She was kneeling up on the landing, her hands clutching the railing in an almost maniacal fashion. She glared at Harland Ludwig and his overweight accomplice.

"Mycroft never wanted me at all," she muttered. "This isn't any different. This isn't some big surprise. So why am I so mad about all of this?"

She sat back on her heels and watched as the two men shook hands and left the orphanage via the heavy wooden double doors.

"Bitter, I guess," she said, answering her own question. "I was just mad from the start. This isn't any different. And plus that, they have no right to ship me away to some foreign relative! I didn't sign up for this! I have a free right! And I don't want to go!"

Of course, that was a lie, and she knew it. She wanted more than anything to be free of the grayness and drabness of the orphanage. But she had to lie to herself to remain strong. She wasn't going to let some skinny guy and his fat little buddy push her around.

Jackie let out an angry sigh and stood up, brushing some dust off her skirt. Even though she wasn't fond of losing her battles, she let it rest and slowly retreated back towards the sleeping quarters.

The so called "sleeping quarters" was nothing more than a large room with rows and rows of cots. Currently there were children running all over, jumping on the beds. Jackie sighed, longing for a bit of peace and quiet, and slowly pushed her way towards her cot in the center of the third row.

"What's wrong, Jackie?"

She looked up as Peter O'Shaunesy, her eight-year-old best friend, walked over and sat down beside her on the cot. He was obviously a good four years younger than she was, but she hardly cared. No one else wanted to be her friend anyway, and no one wanted to be Peter's friend, so they were a good match for each other. Besides, he was a good listener and always went along with everything, even Jackie's crazy plots.

"I'm just getting shipped out of the orphanage, that's all," Jackie replied, tears flooding her eyes. She had never dreamed that leaving the old, drafty, smelly orphanage would be a_ sad _thing, but yet now it was.

"Oh Jackie! I'll miss you so!" Peter exclaimed, hugging her close. "But don't worry – you'll enjoy your life outside of the orphanage. It will be just like you always said in your dreams – a loving family, a beautiful house… and they'll sign you up for French lessons, just like you wanted! And you can learn to play the piano… Jackie, it will be just like you always said it would be."

"If only," she said despairingly. "I wish you were right. But I'm just not sure… apparently I'm just being sent to some relative who doesn't even know I'm coming, and who doesn't even want me!"

Peter frowned. "You'll do fine, Jackie. You're good at making friends."

She rolled her eyes. "Peter, you're my only friend. And you made friends with me, not the other way around."

"I'm trying to make this more optimistic, Jackie. You're not helping."

"Sorry."

The two sat there for a little longer, both crying softly. After a while, Jackie shrugged and decided that she might as well start packing.

"Just remember, Jackie," Peter said, standing up, about to go back over towards his bed, "I'll always be there for you. Write me if you need anything. And Jackie… you'll be fine. Maybe this relative will be just like you."

Jackie scoffed. "Those men say I'm a handful."

"Not a handful," Peter replied with a smile, giving her a friendly pat on the back like only a little eight-year-old can do. "Maybe he'll be adventurous, brave, and smart, just like you. And he'll have to be clever. What do you think?"

"I guess I can only dream," Jackie responded, smiling.

And that's all she could do anyway – dream. She had less than twelve hours now before she'd be heading off to unknown territory.


	2. Chapter 2

"Oh my," the old miner said, glancing over his wife's shoulder. "She looks just like her."

"Doesn't she?" his wife said softly, admiring the tiny baby. "Oh, she's beautiful!"

Wrapped in a blanket and held tightly by the old miner's wife was baby Jacqueline, a nearly exact replica of her mother. The dark hair, the cinnamon sprinkle freckles, the big, curious eyes…

"Where'd she get those blues?" the miner asked, leaning forward to look at the baby his wife was holding so tenderly. "I thought you said her mother had brown eyes…"

"She did. Dark brown, but just as big as this child's."

"Do we know the father?"

The wife shrugged and set the baby down in the little wooden cradle near the fire. She sighed. She hadn't used that in… oh, going on forty years now. How she missed having a child in the house…

"Well, I didn't get much out of her in those last breaths," the miner's wife said sadly, rubbing her hands together to keep warm. "Something of a Holmes…"

"Sherlock Holmes!" the miner cried, his eyes growing wide. "The great detective?"

"No, of course not!" his wife exclaimed, laughing and sitting down wearily in her rocking chair. "Sherlock Holmes. Goodness, Ronald, honestly."

"Well, it'd explain how she got those blue eyes," the miner said, nodding to the baby. "I've heard his eyes are like ice!"

"Hmm," his wife responded absentmindedly, picking up her sewing basket and looking for a needle.

"Ice to freeze those criminals in their tracks!" the old man went on.

"Please Ronald. Enough with this silly chatter."

"But it's true, Anna!"

"Nothing but gossip. Please Ronald, why subject yourself to such banter?" Anna said, brushing several grey strands of hair out of her face and moving closer to the candle. She squinted at the pants she was trying to mend. "We may just be common folk, but that doesn't mean we need to act like the rest of them."

The old miner shrugged and leaned back in his chair.

"Explain to me, just once more, how you came to find her. It still seems so out of the ordinary."

"Well," his wife began with a sigh, "her name was Jacqueline Devaroux, she said, and she had just come from her own father's house. Banished, I'd say. I met her on the street, sobbing. She was surely about to die."

"And you were coming home from the grocer's."

"Precisely. So obviously I had to help her. Ophelia Doolittle – she was just across the street, mind you – rushed over to help. We carefully carried her into Ophelia's house, and the baby was born. Jacqueline was sobbing, and cried to take the child away, back home where it would be safe. We tried to ask for information, something to find the father of the child, but all we got was 'Holmes', like I told you. And then the girl died. She looked to be hardly more than twenty, poor thing."

"Hm," was all Harold could say. He leaned back and chewed on the end of a toothpick. "And what do we do with the girl now?"

Anna shrugged. "Take her to the orphanage, I guess."

"We need to find her father."

"And how on earth are we supposed to do that?"

"We should get into contact with that Devaroux man, you know, Jacqueline's father. He'll know something, surely," Harold said.

"Now that's an idea," Anna said, standing up. "That's a good idea. My, Harold, you just seem to be getting smarter by the minute!"

The old miner just chuckled as his wife strode over to wear the baby girl was lying and gently picked her up.

"Don't worry, little one," she whispered, looking into the baby's crystal blue eyes. "We'll find your home. You'll never be alone."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry I took so long to post this chapter… I wasn't so sure I was going to continue this story, but it seems like some other people liked it, so thanks for inspiring me to post more! :) I promise I'll keep up with this story and update soon!**

**This chapter is dedicated to artemis262, brunette-in-black, and AnimeOtakuBara. Thanks for favorite-ing/reviewing guys!**

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"Alright, now which one do you think is Merlock?"

Jackie stood with her arms folded across her chest and stone-cold glare upon face in the middle of the parlor at Brunswick Manor. The only things that were more annoying than the ugly floral patterned carpet, grey walls, and depressing music were the two men standing on either side of her.

"I still am feeling that it isn't Merlock," the one on her left, called Carl, said for only the fiftieth time that day.

Jackie rolled her eyes. She hoped they had more room for another deceased Holmes at this place, because she was going to die of boredom at any second now.

The man on her right rolled his eyes as well. His name was Harland Ludwig, and he was the tall, stony-faced, and seemingly evil owner of Ludwig Orphanage on Juniper Bloom Avenue in London, England. He was not a particularly friendly human being, but today he happened to be in an extremely bad mood because things just weren't going his way.

The plan had been relatively simple: go to Mycroft's funeral; find Mr. Holmes, his younger brother, after the service; explain to him the unfortunate situation of his thirteen-year-old niece whom he had never met nor even heard about; then ship the girl off with him. Of course, there were just a few glitches along the way.

Because of some miscommunications and a lack of knowledge of funeral vocabulary – both the fault of Ludwig's oversized assistant Carl – the duo had missed the wake, the funeral service, and the burial. And now they were stuck at some stuffy old mansion for some sort of "party" celebrating Mycroft's life.

"Maybe he looks like her," Carl said, motioning to Jackie, who was still standing unhappily between them.

"Hm," was all Harland said, as he was still scanning the room for the man they were looking for.

"Maybe you could _ask _someone who he is," Jackie suggested, not bothering to hide the annoyance in her voice. "That would certainly make sense, as _everyone_ here would know him!"

"I thought I told you to keep your mouth shut," the orphanage owner scolded, but he had to admit to himself that it was a good idea. He left the other two for a moment and approached a woman in a large hat who was pouring herself a glass of punch.

"Pardon me, madam," he said politely, hiding his normal coldness and forcing himself to smile, "but would you be able to point me in the direction of the younger brother of dear Mycroft, God rest his soul?"

The woman stared at him for just a moment, then turned and pointed a black gloved finger towards a tall man standing in the corner of the room. "You must mean Sherlock," she said. "He's that one, over there. Tall, blondish, blue eyes… with the shorter man standing beside him."

Ludwig grinned.

"Thank you, thank you."

He quickly turned and motioned to Carl, who immediately grabbed Jackie's arm and dragged her along with him over to where Ludwig was standing.

"He's that tall fellow, over there," Harland Ludwig muttered. "All we have to do is dump the girl in his hands and get out of here. Then our job is done."

"Perfect."

"Oh, and by the way," Ludwig added, "it's Sherlock. His name is Sherlock."

Carl squinted at his boss. "What kind of name is that?"

Ludwig shrugged. "Their parents seemed to have had a habit of giving their children strange names."

"Like Jacqueline?" Jackie said coldly.

"That's a perfectly normal name," Harland Ludwig replied testily as he looked around the room.

"No, it's a terrible name. And since no one had an ounce of creativity, they just decided to name me after my mother."

"Stop complaining," Ludwig said, grabbing her wrist and then turning to Carl. "Let's get this over with."

Jackie Holmes rarely got scared. She was the kind of girl who was tough, adventurous, and not about to be pushed around by anybody. But at this moment, she was more or less scared out of her mind.

Although her whole body was screaming at her to just run away, she silently allowed Harland Ludwig to drag her across the floor. She could see her uncle standing there in the corner, watching a group of people across the room with icy blue eyes, and talking in a low voice to the shorter man standing beside him.

"Please let Peter be right," she whispered. "Please let him like me…"

"Mr. Holmes!" Ludwig suddenly exclaimed in a loud voice, pushing Jackie in front of him. "How are you?"

Sherlock Holmes turned towards them as they approached.

"Quite alright, and you?"

"Never better!" Ludwig cried. The older man standing beside Holmes squinted at the orphanage owner. Obviously this strange man had no idea how to act after a beloved family member had died.

"My name is Harland Ludwig," he began, reaching out to shake the detective's hand. "And this is my friend and business partner, Carl Barclay."

The fat man nearly knocked Jackie over as he shook Sherlock's hand. Jackie couldn't help but shoot him an icy cold glare.

"Well, you obviously know me, London's great detective," Holmes said with a wry smile. "I'm Sherlock Holmes. This here is my good friend Dr. John Watson."

"Very nice to meet all of you," Watson said with a smile. "And may I ask who the girl is?"

Sherlock Holmes stared down at Jackie, his blue eyes piercing hers. Jackie tried to offer some sort of smile, but she felt completely frozen. She was getting the strange feeling that even though she knew nothing about this man, just from one glance he already knew practically everything about her.

"Oh, of course," Ludwig said, looking down at her with annoyance. "This is Jacqueline…"

"Jackie," the girl corrected him automatically.

"_Jackie_," he repeated coldly. "Your…"

"Brother's daughter," Holmes interrupted, his eyes not leaving Jackie's. "Mycroft's daughter."

Sherlock Holmes obviously did not seem the least bit surprised, but his friend John Watson nearly tumbled backwards in shock.

"Holmes," he breathed. "I… I had no idea Mycroft had a _daughter_…"

"Nor did I," Sherlock said. "But apparently he does."

"How… how did… you…" Ludwig stuttered, looking back and forth between Sherlock and his niece.

"He's only the greatest detective in all of England," Jackie said very matter-of-factly. "Obviously he would be able to note the resemblance. The eyes, I've been told, are a dead giveaway."

Sherlock cracked a half-smile. "She's smart, this one is."

"Oh! Oh yes, very smart," Carl said quickly. "And friendly. And polite. She is also…"

"Not _now_," hissed Ludwig. "Mr. Holmes, we must admit that a slight problem has arisen after the death of your dear brother. Jacqueline…"

"Jackie."

"…_Jackie_ has lived in our orphanage for her whole life now, with the necessary funds from her father. In his will, which our lawyers have gotten the chance to peruse, it states that you, his brother, should become the guardian of his child, and her existence now lies on you."

"We are very sorry," said Carl with soft, honest eyes. Harland gave him a hard nudge in the ribs.

Sherlock's eyebrows rose as he looked between the two men. "So I suppose now I must…"

"Well, you do have a few options," Ludwig interrupted. He pulled a pamphlet out of his pocket and handed it to the detective, who immediately began looking over it. "You could, of course, keep her in the orphanage, provided you pay the annual tuition."

"Send her back to the orphanage!" exclaimed Watson. He turned to Holmes. "Surely you would never do that to a poor child! Look at her, she looks half starved!"

Jackie truly was trying her best to put on a very pitiful looking face, and it wasn't very hard to do seeing as she actually was a very pitiful looking young girl.

"Let me talk to Mary, maybe we could take her in!" Watson continued. "Please, Holmes, I implore you, do not send her back to that miserable place. I have many patients from the orphanages of London; they are underfed and overworked, and their state of living is absolutely atrocious."

"I beg your pardon," Ludwig said, looking very taken aback. "As you can see in these pictures here, our orphanage is very well-taken care of, and the children are very nicely treated. They are fed three meals a day, go to school and do a very small amount of manual work, and are undoubtedly some of the happiest children in London."

Sherlock glanced over the pamphlet just in time to see Jackie roll her eyes at the man's statements. He cracked another small grin.

"Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Ludwig," he began, giving him back the paper. "But I am not so sure that I see fit to send my niece to your orphanage again. Thank you very much for your time, though. It was very nice meeting you."

Harland and Carl both stood there completely shocked, their mouths hanging open. Jackie's expression looked like it was stuck between surprise and a very "I told you so" type of look.

"Very well," Ludwig said stiffly, shoving the pamphlet back into his coat pocket. "If you change your mind – and I can almost guarantee you will once you get to know her – you can always send her back."

"Thank you, sir," Holmes said. "Have a nice day."

Ludwig nodded and turned on his heel, grabbing the still shocked Carl Barclay and half dragging him out of the room.

Sherlock, Watson, and Jackie Holmes stood in a very awkward silence for a few seconds. Jackie couldn't bring herself to look up at the two men, and instead continued to stare down at the ugly floral carpet. She could tell both the doctor and the detective were watching her intently.

"So," Holmes said with a wry half-smile. "Isn't this a very interesting situation?"

Jackie couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Very interesting indeed."

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**A/N: hope you enjoyed this :) please review!!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry for taking a while to update! I always thought I knew a lot about Sherlock Holmes until I realized that I had the floor plan of 221b all wrong... so sorry for that, but a few days of researching a revising later, I present you with the next three chapters!! :) enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes, or Dr. John Watson, or 221b Baker Street, or anything else recongnizable.**

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Sometimes, being able to hide one's emotions is a very, very good thing. At least, that's certainly how it was for Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

From the eyes of Dr. Watson, Holmes was surprisingly calm for having to cope with not only the death of his brother, but also some thirteen-year-old girl who was suddenly placed in his hands. But in reality, Sherlock Holmes was having some trouble keeping himself together.

He was angry with his brother for not telling him about his niece. He was also slightly disgusted that Mycroft would have forced her into some orphanage for the first decade or so of her life. He was upset that the arrogant orphanage owners practically just dumped her into his hands without any warnings. And of course, he was also a tad confused, as he had absolutely no idea what to do with a thirteen-year-old girl.

And all of these thoughts were hidden behind a very Sherlock-esque half-smile.

Dr. Watson and Jackie weren't doing quite as well as the famous detective.

Jackie was suddenly feeling very small. She felt like she was shrinking under the icy gaze of her uncle, who appeared to be studying her as though she was some suspect in one of his cases. All the coldness and stubbornness that had been building up inside her during the long ride to the Manor had completely disappeared, and she was left feeling like a little girl again, completely lost in the world.

Dr. Watson was not faring well either. In fact, he was quite obviously the worst at hiding his emotions. Sherlock was silent and still, and Jackie was silent and still, but John Watson just couldn't do it. The situation was making him feel more awkward and unnerved with every minute.

"So…" Dr. Watson began, fingering his cup of punch nervously. "…Jackie. You're, you're thirteen, are you now?"

"Yes, sir."

"Ah. Very good."

The small talk wasn't working.

"So Jackie," he began again. "What's your favorite subject in school?"

"Er, probably literature, sir. I really like reading."

"Do you, now? Any favorite books?"

"Oh, I like all sorts."

"Ah. That's nice."

Needless to say, the trio didn't spend much more time at Mycroft's memorial party in Brunswick Manor.

After saying a few quick farewells, Sherlock Holmes marched out the house, followed closely by Watson, who was half pushing Jackie down the stairs. A cab was immediately flagged down, and soon they were headed off towards 221b Baker Street.

The house of Sherlock Holmes was a nice little two story brick apartment on Baker Street, surrounded by a small wrought iron fence and several shrubs and flowers most likely under the care of Mrs. Hudson, the housekeeper and landlady.

Holmes threw open the front door and made his way up into the house, taking the stairs two at a time. Jackie and Dr. Watson, who were a good deal shorter than their detective friend, rushed after him.

Up about seventeen stairs was the entrance into Sherlock's actual home, 221b Baker Street. The main room was large and airy, with a big bow window on the left wall. The most noticeable feature was the large fireplace against the facing wall, with a huge bear skin rug spread out on the floor in front of it. Various other pieces of furniture were scattered about the room: a few armchairs, bookshelves, a desk, and a small, two-chair dining table. Still, despite the nice décor, Jackie's eyes were drawn to the huge piles of books and papers that were littering the floor.

"The house," Holmes said, as though that explained everything.

Jackie nodded. Everything about it seemed to suit him.

"Well then," said Sherlock Holmes suddenly, clapping his hands together. "Mrs. Hudson will show you to your room, and I'll be off to mine. I have a large amount of work I need to get done."

Jackie nodded, unsure of what to say. She watched as he turned and left for his bedroom.

"He's often like that, you know," Dr. Watson said suddenly, catching the hint of loneliness in her gaze. "He doesn't mean anything by it. Sometimes it seems he doesn't quite understand the necessity of human communication."

"Oh."

"He can be rather cold sometimes," the man continued, eyeing Sherlock's closed door. "He doesn't mean to offend, though. I don't suppose he'd keep it up, though, now that you…"

"It's alright," Jackie interrupted quickly. "I don't mind being alone."

She was, in all actuality, being entirely truthful. She didn't mind being alone at all, in fact, she rather enjoyed it. When she wasn't constantly being watched or followed around or looked after, she was free to do whatever she wished. She was especially glad to know that she would have plenty of time to look around the house and explore the area.

Still, the look on Watson's face showed he wasn't quite buying it.

"I wish I was able to stay and help you get settled in," he said somewhat wistfully, "but unfortunately, I do have some patients to attend to this afternoon. But you are welcome to visit whenever you wish; we live just a few streets down. Mrs. Hudson can show you the way. If he's still working later tonight, you're welcome to come over for supper."

"Thank you very much," Jackie said politely. "I'm sure I'll be fine here for a little while. Besides, I have a lot of unpacking to do."

Watson looked doubtfully at the small carpet bag in the girl's hand.

"Very well then," he said finally. "I'll leave you to it. But if you need anything, please come find me."

Jackie nodded and gave him a weak smile as Mrs. Hudson suddenly came bustling into the hall.

"Miss Holmes!" she cried, making a quick, messy curtsy before throwing her arms around the little girl. "Welcome to Baker Street!"

Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, was a stout, fast-talking, cheerful Scotswoman who appeared to be in her early sixties. Whether this was her actual age or just her appearance due to years of strenuous work, Jackie hadn't the slightest idea. She had never been very good at guessing people's ages.

The woman chatted with Dr. Watson for a few minutes, and then proceeded in taking Jackie's bag and leading her across the room.

"I'd give you a quick tour of the house, but there isn't too much to show you," Mrs. Hudson explained. "This is the study, of course, and Mr. Holmes's bedroom is right on the other side of that door. The kitchen is right across the hall, so if you ever need anything, I will more than likely be in there. But what you're probably most interested in is your own room. You'll be staying in Dr. Watson's old bedroom, which is upstairs."

They climbed the stairs and Mrs. Hudson opened the bedroom door. Jackie held her breath and walked inside.

It was perfectly lovely; a small room overlooking a little courtyard in the rear of the house, where a large, leafy sycamore tree and various small shrubs were planted. The room itself was very nice too, with all the amenities, including a very nice little fireplace.

"Well, this is it," Mrs. Hudson said cheerfully, looking around the small room. "Take your time unpacking and getting settled in. You can come down to the kitchen for supper whenever you're ready."

"Thank you," Jackie said in a small half-whisper. The landlady smiled and set her carpetbag on the dresser.

"Not a problem dear. I think you'll find it suits you very well."

"Yes, I think so too."

Mrs. Hudson gave her another kind smile and then left the room.

Finally Jackie was left alone. The room was strangely silent, and everything was perfectly still. It was almost unnerving.

Jackie slowly began unpacking her small amount of possessions and let that feeling of freedom soak in. What was she even to do with herself now? It seemed her uncle just wanted her out of the way, so how much could she actually do without being "in the way"?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud knocking on the front door downstairs. Jackie ran out into the hallway and crouched beside the banister, hoping to catch a glimpse of the visitor. More than likely it was just the milkman, or a paperboy, or maybe even Watson; but in the event that it was an interesting visitor, Jackie wanted to make sure she was the first to catch sight of him. She watched as Holmes opened the door of his bedroom and strode across the study, opening the door and letting the visitor in.

"Mr. Holmes," said a gruff voice, "I have heard you are a professional detective."

"I am."

"I come to request your services."

Even from the top of the staircase, Jackie could see the amusement in her uncle's eyes. Even she felt a leap of excitement; it seemed that for all members of the Holmes family, any potential for mystery, adventure, and the slight possibility of danger brought undeniable exhilaration. A chance to solve a crime or unravel the strange clues to a case was something no Holmes would ever pass up.

"Come in, come in," Sherlock said, leading the visitor into the study.

As he stepped into the light, Jackie immediately took note of his physical appearance. He was tall, thin, and well-dressed, obviously a prominent member of society. His hair was the color of reddish-brown rust, and he held his head high with a sense of irrefutable dignity.

Sherlock Holmes glanced up at the staircase just in time to catch a small figure shrink back into the shadows. He watched for any sign of movement, but if the girl was still there, she was being perfectly still. After staring upwards for a moment longer, he tore his gaze from the dark staircase and focused on his visitor, who, from the medals he was wearing on his coat, he presumed to be of some sort of royal heritage.

"What can I do for you, sir?"

"Well, you must understand, Mr. Holmes, the slight problem that has been pressed upon me…"

As the two men began conversing, Jackie slid back to the edge of the staircase and watched. She didn't take her eyes off her uncle, for fear he might see her up there again. And if there was one thing she didn't want, it was to miss this conversation. Of course, it could be about a perfectly meaningless predicament that would take the great detective two seconds to solve, but then again, it could also potentially turn into a huge, international crisis that dealt with the worst murderers and robbers in the whole entire world. As Jackie continued listening carefully, she couldn't help but hope for the latter.


	5. Chapter 5

Back at the orphanage, Jackie had been the quickest and cleverest of them all.

She was quiet and small enough to hide anywhere, and brave enough to actually do it. She had no problems sneaking around the house at night, and she had never, ever been caught. Whenever one of the children would be denied a meal because they hadn't done well in class or didn't complete a chore, Jackie would simply sneak into the kitchen at night and fetch them some bread. Over the nearly thirteen years Jackie had been living at the orphanage, Harland Ludwig had spent thousands of dollars trying to get rid of the mice that supposedly plagued the kitchen. Jackie wondered with a sly smile if he had finally figured out that they had never really had a mouse problem at all. She concluded that he wasn't smart enough to ever figure that one out.

But even with all her practice snooping and slinking around the orphanage late at night, her previously unrivaled talent and cleverness proved to be no match for the great Sherlock Holmes.

He had, in fact, spotted her after she crawled a little too close to the edge of the staircase. Unbeknownst to Jacqueline, he had been carefully watching the top of the stairs even while listening to his visitor (who ended up having one of the most uninteresting problems ever; something about a discontented maid who threatened to quit). He had, of course, managed this feat by gazing continuously at the large, spotless silver medal pinned onto the chest of the duke, which very nicely reflected everything that was happening on the staircase behind Holmes.

After the visitor had left, Sherlock had, as kindly as possible, told Jackie to stop peering at him from behind the banister and come downstairs. The poor girl, looking extremely upset and confused, slowly made her way down the stairs, obviously realizing that she had been caught listening into his conversation.

Holmes was not angry, per se. In fact, he actually felt a little bit of pride for the young girl. She was very clever for her age, and he admired that. When he looked down into her bright blue eyes, he actually saw a bit of himself in them. He saw a girl who, just like him, had a keen desire for mystery and adventure. But just the same, he didn't necessarily want to have his thirteen-year-old niece involved in his cases.

Jackie was very used to getting into trouble, as she was constantly being yelled at by all the adults at the orphanage. But instead of her usual cold and insensitive appearance during these times, where she would give a very distinct air of "I don't care", she felt more or less completely embarrassed for being caught.

Sherlock didn't yell at her. He didn't smile, but she still thought she saw something in his eyes, almost like amusement. Still, she could tell he didn't want her listening in on his conversations anymore. Although he certainly didn't appear overly angry, the cold voice he used when he asked if she would "kindly stay out of his casework" left her feeling very unnerved.

"I'm very sorry, sir," she said in a whisper, staring down at her toes, which were nervously digging into the Persian rug. She could feel his eyes staring down at her, and it was making her feel extremely uneasy.

As they stood there silently for a few moments longer, Jackie was beginning to get even more anxious. She hated being studied as though she was some sort of criminal who just couldn't be figured out. She wondered if he wanted some sort of confession. What did he want her to say? The tiny wry smile that was playing at his lips gave her the very unsettling feeling that he was reading her mind…

"Holmes!" a voice cried, and both the detective and his niece turned as the door burst open. Sherlock caught her breathing a sigh of relief as Dr. Watson stumbled into the room.

"Good, good, I wasn't sure if you'd finished working," he said, looking slightly out of breath. "I figured I'd invite you both over for supper if you wanted to join us. Mary makes a delicious meatloaf…"

"Thank you kindly for the offer, my dear Watson," Holmes replied, walking over to the table and lighting his pipe. "But I must say that I already had something to eat. How about you, Jackie? Care to spend an evening with the Watson's?"

Jackie offered a weak attempt at a smile. "Thank you very much, sir," she said to the doctor. "But I'm not very hungry."

Watson looked her up and down disbelievingly.

"Very well then," he said with a sigh. "So how is everything going around here? I swore I saw a large carriage parked outside the house not long ago…"

"Oh yes, the duke," Holmes replied. "Although his case was extremely simple and dull, he did have an interesting story to tell."

Watson raised a thick grey eyebrow. "Oh? And what was that?"

"Perhaps Miss Jackie can tell you," the detective responded, giving the girl an amused half smile.

Jackie's face went from ghostly white to bright red in barely a second, and Watson gave her a strange look.

"Oh… well, yes," she began, clearing her throat. "I think I'd better go up to bed."

Without another word, she took off up the stairs and scampered back into her bedroom.

Watson watched as she disappeared into the darkness. "What was that all about?" he asked. "Did she have a run-in with the duke?"

"No quite," Sherlock said, still grinning. "I would tell you what happened, but I'd prefer not to since she's still standing up there on the landing."

Watson and Holmes both looked up, and Jackie stepped out of the shadows and gave her uncle her best ice-cold glare before turning on her heel and running back into her room, slamming the door behind her.

The doctor turned back to Sherlock Holmes, a quizzical look on his face. Holmes merely sighed and sat down in his armchair, clenching his pipe carefully between his teeth.

Watson glanced back up at the stairs once more and then sat himself down in the chair across from Holmes. He watched his friend for a very long time.

"Well?" he said finally, waiting for Holmes to say something.

But Sherlock Holmes had nothing to say.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: just a note, since this chapter is really heavy with crazy-Jackie stuff (seriously, after I reread it, I couldn't believe what I had done to the poor kid, I hope I didn't make her seem too insanely crazy) I promise I'll focus my next one on what Holmes is thinking. I mean, this is Sherlock Holmes fanfiction, right? :) and I promise the next one won't take quite as long as these three did!! enjoy, and review please!**

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"Well Watson, then what do you suppose I do with her?"

There was a very long silence, and then Watson muttered something too soft that even Jackie, who was sitting with her ear pressed against the door of the study (she had found a new way to listen in to conversations, and had taken to sitting out in the front foyer which could easily be reached by sneaking through Mrs. Hudson's room), couldn't hear what he had to say. But it wasn't as though she needed to hear it, anyway.

Feeling a little sick, she made her way back upstairs to her bedroom and lay down. She closed her eyes as tightly as she could and tried to force the tears to stop rolling down her cheeks. But it was no use.

Jacqueline Holmes was not a crybaby. She was tough, stubborn, and headstrong. She would do what she wanted, when she wanted, and she didn't let other people boss her around. She had been through many terrible experiences that left her hardened and stronger. But still, lying there in the darkness, knowing that Holmes and Watson whispering softly about her downstairs, she had to break down and cry.

Jackie didn't really know what a "home" was. She had never had a family, and she had never had anyone to love her. But when she had first set her eyes on 221B Baker Street, with her uncle and Dr. Watson at her side, something clicked. It just felt right. It felt like home.

And now, she wasn't wanted. Again.

The young girl continued going over this in her head, wondering what she had possibly done wrong and trying to figure out what she could do to fix it, when suddenly she heard a soft noise at her window.

Jackie froze. She cautiously glanced out the corner of her eye to see if she could spot what was causing the clatter. But now everything was silent.

At the orphanage, strange noises were always attributed to one of two things: the big oak trees out in the front lawn, or the rats that were constantly around in the attic. So when any small, terrified child woke up screaming because he heard a scary noise, someone would usually say, "oh, it's just a tree brushing against the window" or perhaps "it's just those stupid rats again, so just to bed". But here, the tree in the yard was too far away to touch the window, even on blustery nights, and Jackie was also pretty sure there were no rats in the attic either. Curious as to what the noise could be, she carefully tilted her head and glanced out the window.

There it was again. It sounded quite like something small being thrown against the glass. Scary thoughts immediately began invading her mind, but Jackie, determined not to let her imagination get the best of her, slowly slid out of bed and made her away across the room to the window.

As the noise continued, Jackie soon figured out that _someone_ was throwing rocks against her window. Slightly annoyed, she looked down into the backyard below. But strangely enough, it was completely empty.

By now she was extremely intrigued. Was it a person? Where did he or she go? Was it some sort of strange animal? Or was it just her imagination?

Climbing onto her desk, she struggled to push open the window. Apparently it hadn't been opened in quite some time; Holmes did say the room hadn't been in use since Watson had married Mary Morstan and moved out on his own. Finally, she succeeded in prying open the window and leaned her head out to get a better peek at her surroundings.

The night was dead quiet. The yard was completely empty, and there was not a single person out on the street. There was quite obviously nobody outside throwing rocks at windows.

Confused, Jackie sat down on the desk and wondered what on earth could have made the sound. Perhaps it wasn't a rock after all. Perhaps it was just a…

"BOO!"

"AHHHHHHH!"

Screaming, Jackie fell backwards off the desk in shock, sending a barrage of notebooks and pens flying across the room as well. She landed on the wood floor with a loud thud.

Rubbing the back of her head, she looked up with annoyance to see the person who had scared her half to death. And there, hanging onto the windowsill, was a young boy completely laughing his head off.

"What on earth possessed you to do _that_?" Jackie said angrily, standing up and glaring at the boy. "And what are you doing hanging out my window? And, most importantly, who the heck _are_ you, anyway?"

The boy gave her a sly smile and pulled himself through the window, sitting atop the desk. Jackie took a step backwards, still glaring at him. He was a relatively tall, scrawny, freckle-faced boy who appeared to be about her age. He was dressed from head to toe in dirty, ratty clothing that looked like it hadn't been washed or patched in forever.

"You aren't very observant, are you?" he said, chuckling. "I was standing down there on the top of the kitchen window, and you didn't even notice me."

Jackie gave him another icy glare. His green eyes shone brightly, and she couldn't quite shake the feeling that they were more or less laughing at her.

"I'm extremely observant," she said matter-of-factly, "but it's dark, and I was a bit scared seeing as someone was throwing things at my window in the middle of the night."

"So you _were_ scared?" The boy grinned again, tossing a pebble slowly between his hands.

"No, I wasn't."

"You said you were."

"No I didn't!"

"Yes you did!"

"Fine! I was, okay? You would be too if it was eleven o'clock at night and you were in a new place and you were hearing strange noises coming from the window!"

The boy just chuckled and continued tossing his rock. "Feisty," he said, glancing up at her with a smirk.

Jackie glared at him. "Who are you anyway? Some silly street urchin who figured it was all fine and dandy to just climb through my window and sit on my desk?"

"I beg your pardon," he said, pretending to be offended. "But I am certainly no silly street urchin. I, my lady, am the leader of the Baker Street Irregulars!"

Jackie just stared at him, and then rolled her eyes. "And you expect me to know what that means?"

"The Baker Street Irregulars," he began, twirling a piece of dirty brown hair, "are only the greatest crime-fighters in London, after, of course, our mentor and master, Sherlock Holmes."

"So you're his servant."

"No," the boy said, clearly annoyed. "Not his servant, his assistant! I lead the rest of the group in various missions that Mr. Holmes asks us to undertake."

Jackie rolled her eyes again. The boy merely shrugged, although he did look slightly fazed by her lack of enthusiasm.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"I think you should answer that yourself first," Jackie said with some irritation, "seeing as I more or less asked you the same question several minutes ago and you never actually told me your name. And besides, I think it's only right that you, who so rudely burst into my room, tell me who you are first."

"Fine then," the boy said, and Jackie could sense the amusement in his voice. "If you want to know my name first, I'll tell you. I'm Wiggins."

"Wiggins?" Jackie gave him a wide eyed stare, trying unsuccessfully to hold back her laughter. "What kind of name is Wiggins?"

"What kind of name is Jacqueline?"

"How did you know that was my name?" Jackie cried, and her eyes rested upon the file of papers Harland Ludwig had gave her, nicely labeled "JACQUELINE HOLMES". Irritated, she flung the papers off the desk and looked back up at the boy sitting before her.

"That is not my name," she said coldly. "It's Jackie. And if you ever, EVER call me Jacqueline, so help me I will make sure you never, EVER even get the chance to say my name again!"

Wiggins was not the least bit intimidated by this. He gave her another grin and began tossing his pebble again. "Whatever you say… Jacqueline."

Jackie took a deep breath and tried to contain her anger. As much as she wanted to give him a good solid punch in the face, she figured that if he really _was_ an assistant of Sherlock Holmes, it wouldn't be a very good idea.

"Get out of my room."

"Why?"

"Because. Now get out."

"Who says it's your room?"

"Everybody. Now leave."

"No, seriously. It used to be Dr. Watson's."

"Well, it's not anymore. Now GO AWAY."

"Well, who said…"

"MY UNCLE SAID, OKAY? HAPPY?"

Wiggins sat back on his heels and smiled.

"Very happy," he said. "That's all I needed to know."

Jackie snorted. "What? So you climbed up to the window, burst into my room, and annoyed me to death just so you could figure out if I was technically allowed to use this room?"

"Well, I suppose that is important to know, isn't it?" said Wiggins with a smirk. "But what I really wanted to know was why you were here, and who you were. The boys and I watched as you came in, and we couldn't figure out what on earth Mr. Holmes need with a dim-witted, shrimpy little girl. But now it looks like I've found my answer. He's been forced to take you in!"

"Not forced," Jackie said quickly. "He _offered_ to, well, sort of, anyway. And I'm not dim-witted, and I'm not shrimpy either. And why is it that you all seem to be watching every little thing we do? That isn't the least bit scary at all."

"Whoa, a bit of sarcasm there, eh, Jacqueline?" Wiggins said mockingly. "Didn't think you could do it!"

"Wiggins, get out of my room, right now, or I'll go and get Dr. Watson and my uncle, and they will personally take you out, if, of course, I don't first."

The boy just laughed. "I'm not scared of the Doctor or Mr. Holmes, because I know they'd never do such a thing. I, the leader of the Baker Street Irregulars, am certainly much too important for them to get rid of just because you want them to! And of course, I am not in the least bit scared of you. Why, you're practically nothing! You're just some stupid, hot-blooded, high-strung little orphan girl who is nothing less than a burden to the amazing Sherlock Holmes!"

It was the last straw for Jackie. Furious, she climbed up on the desk and pushed that obnoxious street boy right out the window.

She didn't even watch as he fell down onto the grass below. She slammed the window shut and stomped across the room, throwing herself on her bed and sobbing.

She could just barely hear Holmes and Watson still muttering softly downstairs. She wasn't sure exactly how they managed to miss all the racket that she and Wiggins had caused, but somehow they had been completely deaf to the whole ordeal.

Soon enough, the boy had somehow managed to make his way back up to her window, and was continuously tapping on it.

"Jackie? Jackie?" came the muffled voice from outside. "Listen, I'm really sorry, okay? I didn't mean to… to… Jackie?"

She could see his face from the mirror sitting on the bedside table, and he did actually look legitimately sorry, but Jackie was in no mood to forgive him. She buried her face in her pillow and continued crying, trying to ignore the boy who was still knocking softly on her window.

She was completely miserable. Not so miserable that she wanted to return to the orphanage, but if the rest of her stay continued like this, she might actually consider it.

She hated everything.

She hated her uncle for not understanding her, for constantly underestimating her, and, when he wasn't completely ignoring her, for treating her like a silly little child.

She hated Watson for his small talk, because although he thought he was making her feel more comfortable, in reality, he wasn't.

She hated that stupid boy named Wiggins for just being plain obnoxious. She had no idea what he wanted, or where he came from, or who had given him such a strange name, but she hated him.

She hated her father for first leaving her in an orphanage, and then for dying at the most random time ever, forcing her to move in with his brother.

But most of all, she hated the fact that she actually had made a mental list of things to hate. She hated not being able to find the silver lining in the situation, and not being able to just accept everything she was going through. She hated hating her uncle and Watson, because she knew they were genuinely trying.

Basically, there was just a lot of hatred in Jackie Holmes's life. And she absolutely hated it.

She suddenly realized that the tapping had stopped. She sat up just in time to watch Wiggins walk through the yard, jump the fence, and hurry across the street. She felt somewhat bad for pushing him out the window, but the truth was, he completely deserved it.

With a sigh, Jackie lay back down and stared up at the ceiling. The talking downstairs had stopped, and the sound of a closing door signaled Watson's departure. Finally, the entire house was silent.

Now that she had finally calmed down a bit, thoughts began racing through her mind. Sure, there was a whole lot of hatred in her life (self-induced, of course), but that didn't mean she couldn't do anything about it. She had been given a chance to make something of herself, to finally be free from the terrible people at Harland Ludwig's orphanage. So why was she lying here crying about some silly boy with a rock?

So with that on her mind, and a keen resolve to change the way her life was headed, she drifted off to sleep.

It was around one in the morning when Sherlock Holmes slowly walked up the stairs towards his niece's bedroom. He opened the door just a crack.

Jackie was silently sleeping, looking perfectly peaceful with a soft smile upon her face.

Holmes had to smile.

"Seems she's getting along better than we thought," he said to himself. Then the great detective, feeling very reassured, went downstairs, picked up his violin, and began to play.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hey everyone, here's Chapter 7! It's a little short, but I think it needed to be that way, since we'll have a longer one with a little more action next time. We'll be meeting the rest of the Baker Street Irregulars next chapter, so get excited :) I should be posting it within the next week.**

**anyway, enjoy :) and review!**

**Disclaimer: I'm not Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I don't own Sherlock Holmes or Watson or Mrs. Hudson, nor do I own any of the streets in London mentioned in this chapter :****)**

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Sherlock Holmes was rarely an early riser, except, of course, for the times when he stayed up all night. And this actually happened quite often.

Around six o'clock, Mrs. Hudson, looking extremely weary-eyed from a night of listening to incessant violin playing, brought up breakfast and set it on the dining table. Sherlock Holmes was leaning back in his armchair, scanning the headlines of the morning paper with a pipe sticking out of his mouth. The landlady gave him a weak glare before hobbling back down the stairs and into her bedroom, hoping maybe she could regain a few hours of sleep.

Jackie slowly began making her way down the stairs a few minutes later. With her dark brown curls carefully combed and tied back with a ribbon and a fresh blue dress on, she appeared to be in a slightly better mood than the day before.

Holmes heard her coming down the staircase and peered up at her over his newspaper.

"Good morning. Breakfast is on the table," he said, motioning with his pipe to the dining table.

Jackie nodded and sat down. Mrs. Hudson had made her a plate full of eggs, sausage, and toast, but she was hardly hungry.

"Is it alright if I take a walk outside?" she asked.

Without lowering his newspaper, her uncle responded, "Of course."

"After you finish your breakfast," interrupted Dr. Watson, who had magically appeared at the front door.

Sherlock and Jackie both jumped slightly and looked up in surprise as the doctor shut the door behind him and hung his hat and coat on the hook.

"You do drop by at the strangest of times, don't you, my friend," commented Holmes, resuming his daily reading of the newspaper.

"Only when I'm passing by," replied Watson, who had taken a seat across from Jackie, "which, of course, happens to be quite often, seeing as there aren't many ways I can get into the most central parts of London without passing your house."

Holmes chuckled. Jackie gave the doctor a friendly smile. She had to admit that she was beginning to like him a lot; he was much more personable than her uncle. Although she wasn't so sure she would be have been able to endure living with Watson, as his incessant worrying over her and trying to talk to her was slightly irritating, she was definitely gladdened by the fact that he tended to visit quite often.

"And as for you," the doctor continued, directing his attention to Jackie, "you need to eat your breakfast before you do anything else. Really Holmes, do you plan on starving the child? As though she hasn't had enough of that already! You need to be more careful in making sure she eats all her meals."

"Of course," said Holmes, still engrossed in his reading.

Watson let out a deep sigh and turned back to Jackie.

"Make sure you eat everything," he reminded her. "And then you can go outside. Some fresh air would definitely be beneficial to you. Make sure to be careful around the alleys, though."

"I will," Jackie said, quickly stuffing a forkful of scrambled eggs into her mouth.

"Alright then, it seems my work here is done," Watson said, chuckling. "I'm headed to the Hendrickson's house, down off Piccadilly. Their poor son Theodore is sick with influenza."

"What a pity," commented Holmes. Watson rolled his eyes at his friend's lack of interest.

"Eat your breakfast," he called to Jackie as he put on his coat. "And be careful!"

Jackie gave him a quick wave and watched as he left the house. Taking a quick bite of toast, she leaned back in her chair so she could keep sight of him walking down Baker Street away from the house.

"Once he gets to Portman Square, he'll round the corner and won't be able to see the house anymore," Holmes said suddenly, as though knowing exactly what Jackie was thinking.

She looked up at him in surprise, but he still appeared to be reading his newspaper intently.

"Thanks," she muttered, and she turned back to the window.

As soon as Watson was out of sight, she took one last bite of toast and then ran upstairs to grab her jacket. Holmes glanced up at her barely touched plate of food and chuckled.

"I'll just be out for a walk, I won't go far," she said as she hurried back down the stairs and slipped into her jacket.

She paused at the doorway for just a moment, waiting for some sort of "be home in time for dinner" type of statement, but Holmes merely glanced up from the paper to acknowledge her departure, and then went back to reading.

Shrugging, Jackie turned and hurried down the stairs and out of the house.

Holmes put down his paper and watched as she practically jumped out onto the pavement, stood for a moment as though contemplating which way to go, and then took off in the opposite direction as Dr. Watson. She seemed to have something she was looking for. He wondered if she had any idea where she was going.

As his niece disappeared among the rows of buildings that lined the street, Holmes wondered for just a moment if he was doing the right thing. Was he helping her by taking her in, or only hurting her?

Sherlock Holmes dwelled on this for just a moment, but finding himself unable to delve into the mind of a thirteen-year-old girl, he gave it up and returned to reading his newspaper.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: okay, okay, I lied!! I said we'd be meeting the Irregulars this chapter, but unfornately "this chapter" was getting really, really long, so right now I'm posting the relatively short, kind of boring part that I chopped off the beginning of "this chapter". Sorry!! But you should know that the next one (when we will ACTUALLY be meeting the Irregulars) is already about halfway done, so you'll be getting that sometime relatively soon!!**

**again, sorry for lying to you :(**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson, the Baker Street Irregulars, or London :)**

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When Jackie was determined to do something, there was absolutely nothing that could stop her. And today, she was not going to let the fact that she was a thirteen-year-old girl walking down some of the most dangerous streets in London all by herself stop her from finding Wiggins and the rest of the Baker Street Irregulars.

And yes, you heard that right: she was going to find the Baker Street Irregulars.

After pushing him out the window the night before, she had resolved to go find Wiggins and, well, not necessarily _apologize_, but see if she could just _talk_ to him. He did seem like a rather interesting character, and Jackie had the feeling that if one got to know him enough, there was much more to him and his strange nature. Besides, just the chance to actually be able to talk to someone her own age was exciting to her. It wasn't that she disliked talking to Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson; it was just that she didn't really like listening to Watson and Holmes didn't really even like talking to her.

After walking for what seemed like hours (although in reality it was merely twenty minutes) and having no idea where exactly she was, Jackie came to the harsh realization that she was doing one of the stupidest things she had ever done.

Honestly, she didn't really know anything about the Baker Street Irregulars. She knew they were basically a bunch of street urchins, led by a shifty young boy named Wiggins. They more than likely resided somewhere around Baker Street, as suggested by their name, and because Wiggins turned right onto Baker Street after running out of the yard, they probably were somewhere towards the north. Also, being the fact that they lived on the streets, they probably didn't live in the nicest parts of town, further supporting the idea that they lived somewhere off northern Baker Street.

Jackie figured that she could have asked her uncle where she could find the Irregulars, because seeing as they helped him out on some of his cases, it was likely he would know where to find them. But for some reason, Jackie didn't really want to ask Sherlock Holmes. Maybe it was because she was uncomfortable asking. Or maybe it was just because she was too prideful. Really, both of those were legitimate reasons.

Regardless, Jackie hadn't asked for any help, and so she was on her own. And with every step she took, she was regretting her decision even more.

She had absolutely no idea where she was, as she had never been in this part of London before. And it didn't take very much deductive power to figure out that it wasn't the best part of London either. As she walked by, feeling very out of place in her clean blue dress and matching hair ribbon, women doing the laundry stopped to give her strange looks, dirty children dressed in rags stared up at her with wide eyes, and creepy old men who were more than likely drunk sat by the roadside and watched her walk by. She was beginning to feel very self-conscious and was debating whether or not to turn around and go back home when she a middle-aged woman suddenly came bursting out her front door.

"WHERE IS THAT BOY!" she cried, red-faced and fuming. "I swear, if he steals one more loaf of bread from me, he'll never see the end of it! I'll call the constable and have him dragged off to prison!"

"Helen, what is it now?" asked another woman, who was sitting two doors down carefully mending a pair of pants while two little children played quietly beside her.

"That awful boy," Helen spat, marching out into the street and looking around. "Two weeks ago he comes around here, looking pitiful and hungry… I should have known he was faking it, I should have known it, but I fell for it!"

"Oh Helen," the other woman clucked. "You've always been so charitable."

"Hmph, to the wrong people, apparently!" Helen, not finding the boy she was looking for, stomped back across the street and sat down on her doorstep. "I gave him a bit of bread, just _once_, and now he thinks he can come around whenever he like and just snatch it off my table! I can barely afford food for my own family, let alone him and his filthy clan of ragamuffins!"

"You mean that freckly lad, Helen?" asked a dark haired woman, leaning out an open window one flight above. "What's his name? Wiggins?"

"Wiggins! That's it!" exclaimed Helen, standing up triumphantly.

Jackie, who was standing against a building on the other side of the street, felt a surge of excitement and could barely even think straight. Wiggins? Honestly? How lucky she was! And now perhaps she was one step closer to finding the Baker Street Irregulars, all thanks to Wiggins and his criminal behavior.

"Wiggins, you say, ma'am?" Jackie repeated. The three women looked up suddenly, having not noticed Jackie standing there.

"Yes, is that something to you?" Helen snapped, glaring at the child. "What are you doing down here anyway?"

"Well, I was just looking for him myself," Jackie replied honestly.

"Looking for him!" cried the woman who was leaning out the window. "Do you know him? Tell him to get back here with our bread!"

"Oh, I barely know him," the girl said, thinking quickly. "I was actually hoping to find him, because he stole loads of food from my family too, and I need to get it all back right now, or else we might not have supper tonight!"

Although her dress might not have suited the part she was trying to play, apparently she still had retained enough of the pitiful, malnourished look of an orphan girl that she was able to convince the women.

"Oh, you poor child," Helen said, showing her soft side for the first time that day. "You really shouldn't be running around here alone, besides, we could all give you a bit of bread for your meal tonight."

"We would never let a child starve," the dark haired woman agreed.

"Oh, thank you so much," Jackie said with an innocent smile. "But really, I couldn't. You worked for you food, you deserve it. Now I just need to find that awful boy and get mine back."

The women, suddenly encouraged by Jackie's determination, all lit up and began chattering excitedly.

"That's the spirit!" cried Helen enthusiastically. "And when you find him, tell him to stop stealing things from everyone here in the neighborhood!"

"Best of luck to you, my dear," said the woman leaning out the window. "Wait, Eliza, didn't you say you saw him running around here earlier today?"

"I actually did," Eliza replied, setting down her mending for a moment and walking over to Helen and Jackie. "Those nasty little boys run through here all the time on their way to the great Mr. Holmes's apartment. Apparently they think they can actually help him or something, I don't know. I think he's such a dear to allow them to stay around, though."

The other women enthusiastically agreed. Jackie tried very hard not to laugh.

"But anyway, I believe they've recently been living in that old barn a few blocks north," Eliza continued. "The one right underneath Beckett's Deli. No one's been using it for years… I'm pretty sure that's where they are."

"Thank you so much for your help!" Jackie cried, her blue eyes shining brightly. "You've been so kind and helpful to me."

"Oh, isn't she a sweetheart," Helen said, beaming. "You do take care, dear, and make sure to give those boys a good talking to from all of us!"

"I sure will!" Jackie gave them a quick wave and then took off up the street. She didn't take any notice of the strange people staring at her as she went; she didn't care, because she was finally going to find the Baker Street Irregulars.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: So... finally, a new chapter!! This one's a little random, I guess, but pretty necessary. Next chapter we'll be getting into the actual "main plot" of the story, Sherlock's main case, so stay tuned!!**

**This chapter is dedicated to ElOsoDelNieve, who sent me a wonderfully encouraging message and inspired me to get this chapter up here tonight!! THANK YOU!!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson, "The Baker Street Irregulars", or Wiggins. I did, however, make up the names and personalities of my other "Baker Street Irregulars", as Wiggins is the only one with a name in the Sherlock Holmes books. So if they happen to coincide with anyone else's "Baker Street Irregulars", please know that was not aware of this and had no intention of using the same names as anyone else. If there are any problems please let me know!! Thank you!**

* * *

It didn't take long for Jackie Holmes to reach Beckett's Deli, the assumed hiding place of the Baker Street Irregulars. The deli was owned by Mr. Hank Beckett, an elderly man with a thick Cockney accent. It was located in what might have been one of the worst neighborhoods in London, and by the looks of the dark, dingy little corner shop, Jackie wasn't so sure she would even want to go inside, let alone buy meat from the place.

Underneath the deli was a small stable, one that had probably once been the home of Mr. Beckett's prized Arabian horses. But the economy suddenly experienced a sharp decline, and as the money went away, so did the lovely grey horses. By now Mr. Beckett was too old to even make his way down into the barn, so the place had been abandoned for quite some time.

Jackie rounded the corner, carefully walking down the steep decline of the street as it went downwards towards the river. Finally she spotted a small set of stairs leading downwards into what she supposed was the barn, obviously the entrance Mr. Beckett would have taken when feeding his horses after a long day at the shop.

Jackie carefully stepped down onto the first wobbly wooden step, gripping tightly to the stone walls. Trying her best to keep her balance, she made her way down the ten creaky stairs that led to the open door of the stable.

She was just about to peer in when suddenly there was loud cracking noise, and a tiny bullet whizzed past her and ricocheted off the wall. She let out a scream and turned to run back up the stairs as the shooter fired a few more bullets in her direction.

Luckily for her, whoever was firing was not a good aim, so the majority of the bullets hit the walls or the open door, causing them to bounce back inside. Unluckily for her, she was wearing a dress that went almost to her ankles, and of course she just had to trip over the hem and fall flat on her face, sliding back down the stairs.

This was certainly not what she had been expecting. And this was most certainly not the hideout of the Baker Street Irregulars.

As she struggled to get up and crawl up the rest of the stairs, trying her best to stay out of the way of the barrage of bullets ricocheting against the stone walls, she wondered what her uncle would say when she came home, if, of course, she made it home…

This was such a terrible idea. It was the worst idea she had ever had. She mentally cursed herself as she tripped again and felt a sharp pain in her foot, she had obviously twisted an ankle on one of the loose wooden steps…

"Hey, stop!" a voice said suddenly, and the shooting immediately came to a halt. "It's Jacqueline Holmes!"

"Jackie," the girl muttered, groaning and rolling over. She tried her best to catch her breath and then opened her eyes, looking up into the huge grin of none other than Wiggins himself.

"Jackie," he repeated, grabbing her hand and pulling her off the ground. "Hey, sorry about that…"

"Yes, you should be!" Jackie cried in response, shaking off his hand and instead grabbing onto the wall for support. Pain shot through her leg, and she ended up collapsing back down onto the stairs. "What was that for? You could have killed me!"

"Again, sorry," Wiggins said, although much to Jackie's annoyance, the tone of his voice didn't exactly match his apology. "So what brings you to the Fort?"

"The Fort?" Things started coming back into focus as Jackie regained her balance and let go of some of her anger. Wiggins was standing in the doorway of the stable – or "The Fort", as he called it – bright-eyed and grinning. Behind him stood about seven or so boys, peering at her out of the darkness.

"I honestly don't know," she said finally, rubbing her head. She had been asking herself the same question since she left the house.

"Oh well, no matter," Wiggins replied. He then grabbed her arm and half-dragged her inside the barn. "Come on. I'm glad you came, the guys have been dying to meet you!"

It took a few seconds for Jackie's eyes to adjust to the sudden change in lighting as Wiggins pulled her into the dimly lit room. The Fort wasn't very big, probably only slightly larger than her own bedroom on 221 Baker Street. There were a few random pieces of furniture scattered about, including a small wooden table, a few flimsy-looking stools, and a dingy, floral-patterned chaise lounge that Jackie wasn't even sure she wanted to know where the boys found, and they were all centered around a small kerosene lamp that was seated in the middle of the floor.

"Oh, and again, sorry about all the shooting," Wiggins said suddenly as he kneeled on the floor to light the lamp. "We were down by the river and Mack found this fantastic…"

"I don't even want to know," Jackie interrupted, sitting down on one of the more sturdy-looking stools. She leaned over took a careful look at her ankle, but seeing no blood, she figured that it could be taken care of later. "Just don't do it anymore! I swear, if you I would've made it back home and told everyone what you did, you would have never heard the end of it! I would have…"

"I don't even want to know," Wiggins mimicked, grinning. "Now would you stop talking so I can introduce you to everyone?"

Jackie looked around and noticed that the other boys, all as wide-eyed and dirty as Wiggins, had made their way inside. She made a quick count and realized that there were in fact seven of them, and they were all seated around the room looking either tremendously curious or extremely impatient.

"This here is Mack, my second in command," Wiggins began, giving the tall boy next to him a friendly slap on the back. Mack grinned, his dark eyes glowing brightly, and reached out to shake Jackie's hand. He was a few inches shorter than the tall, lanky Wiggins, but was definitely a bit stronger looking.

Mack then turned to a younger boy sitting on the chaise lounge, who stood up and introduced himself as Nate. "I'm his brother," he said proudly, giving Jackie a bright, toothy grin. It was quite obvious, too; Nate looked exactly like a smaller version of his older brother.

"This is Charley," continued Wiggins, referring to a blond-haired boy sitting on a stool across the room, who immediately gave her a friendly smile.

"And this here's Shorty," said Wiggins, motioning towards a brown-haired boy leaning against the wall, who was, as his name implied, quite short.

"He's from Russia, and we don't know how to pronounce his real name," the boy sitting on the stool beside Jackie giggled. Shorty merely grunted and turned away.

"I'm Finn, by the way, and I'm twelve," the boy continued. He had vivid blue eyes and reddish-blond hair, and a bucketful of freckles sprinkled all over his face. He smiled brightly at Jackie and shook her hand, while Wiggins just rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, that over there is Jasper," Wiggins continued, and the dark-haired boy gave a weak attempt at a smile. He had green eyes and extremely pale skin, and looked like he was either completely miserable or extremely sick, although Jackie figured it was a mixture of both.

"And that's Tad," Wiggins said with finality. Tad, a tiny boy in the corner whom Jackie hadn't even noticed at first, gave a small smile. He appeared to be no older than seven, and Jackie immediately felt a wave of pity for the dirty little blond-haired boy.

"And we're the Baker Street Irregulars!" Wiggins proclaimed. "And everyone, obviously this here is Jackie, but I already told you about her."

The other boys nodded, making Jackie feel slightly unnerved. She could practically picture them all sitting around the old kerosene lamp while Wiggins dramatically told the story of his little adventure at 221 Baker Street.

"Nice to meet you all," she said finally. She didn't really know what else to say.

The room was cast into an awkward silence, and all eyes were on Jackie.

"Alright," she said, giving them a half smile and carefully brushing some of her hair out of her eyes. "So… now what?"

And Wiggins just shrugged and gave her a very mischievous smirk that made Jackie wonder yet again why on earth she had gotten herself involved with the Baker Street Irregulars. Because with them, anything could happen. And sometimes that wasn't necessarily a good thing.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Sorry that this one's a little all over the place. I tried to put in a little bit of everyone's point of view, although I didn't realize how hard it is to write as Sherlock!! He's just too smart for me to capture all of his thoughts :) but anyway, hope you like it, and don't forget to review!**

**and next chapter we'll be starting the real big case/main plot thing... I know I said it would be this chapter, but I'm just really really bad at planning things out ahead of time, everything always ends up being longer than I expected**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes, Mrs. Hudson, the Baker Street Irregulars, Dr. Watson, or 221B Baker Street, or anything else recognizable**

* * *

It was just past four thirty in the afternoon, and Mrs. Hudson was bustling around the kitchen quite happily. She was feeling much better; a nice, long nap had done a very good job of curing the crankiness brought about by yet another sleepless night (due, of course, do her tenant's incessant late-night violin playing).

The tea kettle whistled impatiently from over on the stovetop, and the woman hurried over to take it off. She poured a small cup of tea, then, carefully tucking loose strands of what was once flaming red hair back behind her ear in an effort to look somewhat presentable, she scurried out of the kitchen to deliver the drink to Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

The man was sitting in a chair with pipe in his mouth, gazing out the parlor window down onto Baker Street. He gave a slight nod to acknowledge the landlady's presence as she set the cup of tea down on the table beside him, but his eyes never left the window.

Mrs. Hudson wiped her hands on her apron and looked out the window as well. Everything seemed completely in order outside. There were people bustling down Baker Street just as always, hurrying around downtown London. Mrs. Hudson didn't see anything odd about it. She carefully watched Holmes's face for some sign of his thought process.

But Sherlock was, as usual, expressionless. He continued staring out the window, not necessarily looking at anything in particular, a faraway look in his striking blue eyes. Mrs. Hudson stood there for a little while longer in hope that he might say something, but of course, he remained silent. Disappointed, she let out a sigh and went back into the kitchen to resume her work.

Holmes set down his pipe for just a moment in order to take a small sip of tea. He continued gazing out the window. You should know, of course, that this – staring aimlessly out the window, that is – was not an unusual thing for Sherlock Holmes to do. He could often be found "people watching"; just observing the normal day-to-day occurrences of random people as they passed by his parlor window. He found this extremely intriguing, as you might guess.

But today was slightly different. He wasn't merely observing the passersby; he was actually looking for someone in particular. And of course, this person was his niece, Jackie.

Thinking back on it, he probably shouldn't have let her go out on the streets of London alone. Or perhaps he should have at least given her some direction, or more importantly, a time to be home. Because here it was, just past four in the afternoon, and they had a dinner arrangement with Dr. Watson that he had almost completely forgot about.

"What do you mean you just forgot about it?" Mrs. Hudson sputtered after he asked her if she would mind pressing his other pair of slacks. "At six o'clock tonight? And did you even _bother_ to tell your niece?"

Of course he hadn't. If he hadn't remembered that they had a place to be a six o'clock, he certainly wouldn't have told Jackie about it.

Holmes wondered where she had run off to. He had half a mind to go out looking for her, but of course, what good would that do? It was impossible to look over every single nook and cranny in the city of London. It was much too big. Even Sherlock Holmes, who knew the city like the back of his hand and could make his way through it while walking backwards with his eyes closed, would have a tough time finding a thirteen-year-old girl running around in it.

After debating for quite a while as to whether or not he actually should go on a search for her, he decided that it would be best to just stay put for a little while longer and see what happened.

And after he had been sitting there for about a half hour longer, continuing to look down at the street below, when he caught a sudden flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye.

He turned slightly and looked up at the mirror above the fireplace, in which he could see the windows of the house across the street, which gave a very nice reflection of several people attempting to climb up the drainpipe.

A wry smile appeared on Sherlock's face, and he slowly got up from his chair and started to make his way up the staircase.

Outside, Jackie was staring up at the drainpipe incredulously. Wiggins was nearly to the window, and Finn was starting up behind him.

"Come on, Jackie, it's really not that bad!" Finn cried, blowing a dirty strand of strawberry blond hair out of his face. "It's not hard at all!"

"Easy for you to say," scoffed Jackie. "You're not wearing a dress!"

Wiggins slid back down to the ground, pushing Finn down with him.

"Come on, Jack, it's fine," he said. "We can help you if you want."

"No thanks," Jackie said with a glare, and she took a deep breath and started up the drainpipe.

Wiggins just rolled his eyes.

"Fine then, if you don't want any help, I guess we'll be going. See you tomorrow, though?"

Jackie stopped and looked back down at the boy standing on the ground beneath her. They really _did_ have a lot of fun that day. The whole afternoon was basically spent running around London, exploring hidden alleys and playing down by the river. It had been so much being around the Irregulars, even if they were slightly annoying at times.

"Maybe," Jackie said finally, giving them a smile that just made Wiggins roll his eyes again. Then she turned back around and continued her climb up to her second floor bedroom.

She finally made it all the way up. She turned and saw the boys disappear down an alley, and then carefully crawled through the window onto her desk, and then stepped onto the floor. She let out a sigh and was about to go flop down on her bed when she jumped suddenly and let out a tiny squeak.

There was her uncle, sitting in the chair by the door, giving her a very curious smile.

"You look nice," he commented.

Jackie looked down at her brand new blue dress, which was now covered in mud and had a huge rip down the side. She didn't even want to know how dirty her face was, and she could tell that her hair was a completely mess.

"And you know you don't always have to climb through the window," he continued. "The front door is a perfectly acceptable means of entrance."

Jackie nodded. She was still getting over the surprise of him sitting there to even respond.

"I assume you found yourself some friends," he added, nodding towards the window. "They're an interesting group of lads, aren't they?"

"They surely are," Jackie agreed.

Holmes chuckled. "Well, we are going to meeting Dr. Watson and his wife for a dinner arrangement in about an hour," he said, standing up. "It would be very nice indeed if you could be all cleaned up and looking decent by that time.

"Yes, sir," Jackie replied, fingering the edge of her skirt nervously. "I'll be ready."

"Excellent." Holmes looked her over one last time, as though trying to figure something out, and then turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Jackie stood there for just a minute longer, turning over all the events of the day in her mind. Then, remembering that she actually had to make herself look somewhat nice for dinner tonight, she quickly started cleaning herself up.

But even as she busied herself with fixing her hair and washing her face, her mind was still on the Baker Street Irregulars. They were a sort of escape from all the properness of 221B, where she was expected to look nice and act like a young lady. Of course, that really wasn't quite who she was, and she was pretty sure her uncle knew that, too.

"Well, isn't she ready yet?" Mrs. Hudson asked, busting around the parlor downstairs.

"Hm, well I told her to get ready about forty minutes ago, give her some time," Holmes said. He checked his reflection in the mirror on the mantle, carefully fixing his tie and smoothing his hair.

"If she wouldn't come in looking like a complete mess maybe she'd get ready faster," Mrs. Hudson grumbled. "Did you see her dress? What on earth was the child doing all day long?"

Holmes chuckled as the landlady shook a very dirty, ratty-looking blue dress in the air. He turned around and gave her a small smile.

"I suppose she was just out having fun," he said finally, smirking at Mrs. Hudson's disbelieving stare.

"Well, there are plenty of_ fun_ things to do inside the house, without ending up with one very terrible looking dress," she said, glaring at Sherlock. "In fact, I wouldn't be in the least bit surprised if some of your strange habits are rubbing off on her! Just look at you, running around chasing criminals, and… and playing that blasted fiddle all night long! You're possibly the worst role model any child could have!"

If Holmes took that to heart at all, he certainly didn't show it. He merely continued smirking and went back to smoothing his hair, much to the annoyance of Mrs. Hudson. But before the landlady could burst into another rant, Jackie appeared on the staircase.

"I'm ready," she said softly, descending the stairs.

"Dear, you look absolutely lovely," Mrs. Hudson said, immediately hurrying over to fix the girl's hair and straighten her bow. "Lovely indeed, like a perfectly proper young lady."

Jackie smoothed the skirt of her dress, which was white with tiny blue flowers, quite similar in style to the one she had just ruined that morning. She looked up and smiled at her uncle, who nodded with approval.

"The cab is waiting outside," he said, checking his pocket watch. "We had best be on our way, as we don't want to be late."

Mrs. Hudson nodded and pushed Jackie out the door.

"Watch your mouth with this one around, Mr. Holmes," she whispered before Sherlock followed Jackie out to the street. "Honestly, just letting her do as she pleases is no way to raise a child."

Holmes gave her a strange look before walking down the stairs and stepping into the carriage. Jackie leaned out the window and gave Mrs. Hudson a wave goodbye, and then the cab took off down the street.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Finally, a new chapter! Again, guys, I am SO sorry for the long wait. I am going to try to be better about this, because I honestly do feel really bad. Don't worry, I know how the next chapter should play out so hopefully I'll have that up here soon!**

**Also, this chapter is dedicated to ariedling - thank you for the encouraging message :)**

**Enjoy! and don't forget to review!! :)****  
**

**Diclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson, Mary (Morstan) Watson, the Baker Street Irregulars, or anything else recognizable.**

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Dr. John Watson and his wife, Mary, were already seated at a table in the back of the Piccadilly Inn Restaurant by the time Sherlock Holmes and his niece arrived.

"I thought you would never make it," the doctor hissed, leaning over as his friend sat down. "What took you so long?"

Holmes merely shrugged. "Various things."

Watson didn't ask for any more information, and just shook his head at his detective friend. It was actually relatively normal for Holmes to be late for dinner arrangements or other various social appointments; if it didn't have to do with his work, he usually didn't make it one of his bigger priorities. Dr. Watson knew this, so he didn't really take his friend's tardiness to heart.

"And you must be Jacqueline," Mrs. Watson said gently, smiling down at the girl. "My husband told me all about you."

"Oh," Jackie said, glancing over at the doctor. Of course he would go telling everyone all about her. "And I actually go by Jackie. It's very nice to meet you, ma'am."

Mary Watson gave Jackie another friendly smile. Mary, who was just over thirty years old, had been married to the doctor for a few years now. She was an absolutely beautiful woman, with long brown hair and lovely dark eyes. Dr. Watson had actually met her while he and Holmes were solving a case for her family, and it was more or less love at first sight. Although she and the doctor didn't have any children themselves, she was a constant mother figure for many of her husband's patients, and she also couldn't help but reach out to the poor orphaned niece of Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

"So how old are you again, dear?" Mrs. Watson said as the waiter came around, pouring glasses of water for the four of them.

"I just turned thirteen, ma'am," Jackie said. She fingered the hem of dress nervously and took a quick sip of water. She had never been to such a nice restaurant before, and honestly, she was hating every minute of it. She stole a quick glance towards the string quartet playing some sort of long Beethoven sonata over in the corner. As though the annoying waiter constantly refilling her water, the dim "romantic" flickering candles, and the five forks and three spoons she had sitting next to her plate weren't bad enough; now she had to listen to a string quartet on top of it.

Her eyes wandered back to her own table and she realized that her uncle was once again staring her down, as though trying to figure out what she was thinking. She quickly glanced down to avoid his gaze, but there was no stopping the icy stare of his blue eyes. She desperately wished Watson would attempt to make some more of that small talk he was horrible with, just so the awkward silences and staring would be avoided.

"So Dr. Watson," she blurted suddenly, eager to break the silence. The doctor looked up at her in surprise, as she had never been one to make conversation before. "You said you were going to visit Theodore Hendrickson this morning; how is he doing? Is he feeling any better?"

"Yes, yes, much better, my dear," Watson said, smiling at Jackie. He was very pleased to find that she had taken some sort of interest in his work. "There wasn't much I could do for the poor child besides remind him to stay in bed and rest, and drink lots of fluids, of course. But it seems like he has drastically improved since the last time I had visited him."

"Oh, that's wonderful," Jackie said with a nod. She took a small bite of the sesame seed-covered roll the waiter had just set before her. "Really excellent."

"Isn't it, though?" Mrs. Watson added in agreement. "You should go with John one day, Jackie. I think you'd really enjoy it, and learn quite a bit too. You definitely strike me as one who might go into the medical field someday."

Jackie smiled politely, although she sincerely doubted she would ever be living the life of a nurse or doctor. It wasn't really up her alley. Now, if she had her uncle's job… _that_ would be exciting…

"…and I could show you all the medicines and instruments, and you could possibly even be able to help me with some of the more simple surgeries," Watson was saying. "Oh Mary, that certainly is an excellent idea. She is so clever and bright, surely she would make an excellent apprentice. You wouldn't mind of course, would you, Holmes?"

"Not a bit," Sherlock replied, glancing up suddenly at the mentioning of his name. He had been busy slowly turning his wine glass in circles, trying to catch a glimpse of the group sitting behind him in its reflection. "You certainly have my consent."

"Well, any day you would like to come, dear, you certainly should," Dr. Watson said to Jackie. "Just stop by. You know where we live."

Jackie nodded. Truthfully, it might actually be quite fun to help out the doctor with some of his patients. And it certainly would be useful, too. She and the Irregulars had already started plotting some grand adventures for the coming months, and she figured that perhaps a bit of medical knowledge might be helpful, especially knowing some of those boys…

Dr. Watson and his wife continued chatting away excitedly, but the mind of Sherlock Holmes had slowly drifted away from the conversation. He was staring out the window of the restaurant with a very bored look on his face, watching as the carriages and buggies hurried down the road outside. He soon realized that Jackie was watching him, and he turned back towards her to give her a smile. But soon enough something else caught his eye, and he stared past his niece and out the window behind her. Jackie, immediately curious, spun around to see what he was looking at.

The next few seconds was a flurry of movement, and even the great detective Sherlock Holmes didn't see exactly everything that happened.

Through the window directly behind her, Jackie caught just a glimpse of someone running away. Holmes stood up upon seeing the running person and prepared to run out the side door himself to see what was going on. But in this exact moment, a young man burst through the front door and screamed, "Someone's been killed!"

Jackie's mouth dropped open and her heart practically skipped a beat. She whirled around to face her uncle, who was standing tall and frozen beside his chair.

The restaurant was in a state of silent shock for just second, but no longer than that. Because the young man barely finished yelling his message when a shot rang out and he went careening forward, falling flat onto his face on the wooden floor of the restaurant.

The room immediately burst into screams. Jackie was able to steal a quick glimpse of the young man who was now lying more than likely dead on the floor, and then the waiter came by and shoved her underneath the table. Jackie fought back for a few seconds, but as she realized the immense chaos surrounding her, she consented and scurried underneath the tablecloths. Mrs. Watson had fainted, and the doctor was already at the scene of the crime trying to revive the poor young man. And of course, as she had expected, Sherlock Holmes was nowhere to be found.

"Police! Call the police!" cried the waiter, tripping over Mrs. Watson's overturned chair and landing on top of several other extremely confused and distressed people.

Dr. Watson, kneeling beside the young man, looked up immediately. "Where's Sherlock Holmes?" he said, but his voice was lost amidst the screams and shouts.

His eyes scanned the room and suddenly found Jackie, who had begun crawling out from underneath the table. He gave her the best fatherly "don't you even think about it" look he could muster, but obviously it didn't work. Jackie gave him a very small, extremely Sherlock-ish half smile before pushing through a group of shouting people and hurrying out the door. No one was going to stop her; she was going to go follow her uncle.


End file.
